


An Education

by anti_ela



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Childhood Memories, Gay Draco Malfoy, Gen, Hogwarts Era, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Malfoy Family Feels (Harry Potter), No betas!! Only post!!!, Non-Chronological, One-Sided Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Pensieves, Pre-Hogwarts, Slytherins Being Slytherins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-16 18:12:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18526909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anti_ela/pseuds/anti_ela
Summary: The first words Narcissa Malfoy said to her son were whispered into his hair. "I am your mother, Draco, and I will never abandon you." He didn't remember, of course; he was not among those cursed to remember his birth or even his toddling years. But it was among the memories in Narcissa's pensieve, and so it was a part of his inheritance.





	An Education

The first words Narcissa Malfoy said to her son were whispered into his hair. "I am your mother, Draco, and I will never abandon you." He didn't remember, of course; he was not among those cursed to remember his birth or even his toddling years. But it was among the memories in Narcissa's pensieve, and so it was a part of his inheritance.

There were no memories of Lucius.

\---

"What does Harry Potter look like?" Sitting there with her, drinking tea out of fine cups, he had always felt brave. Not even house elves attended them here: they were alone in all the world.

Narcissa sipped her tea. "No one knows."

"But why doesn't anyone know?"

"After the death of his parents, he was moved out of the wizarding world. No one knows where he is hidden or how he lives." It was a testament to Narcissa that her words were unhurried no matter how often she repeated them. She was a still pool, unruffled by any wind.

Draco frowned at his biscuit. "Children look like their parents. Vincent looks just like Mr. Crabbe. What did his parents look like?"

"I assume you want to know what he would look like now, yes? Not as an adult."

Draco nodded.

"His parents were younger than your father and I; we did not attend Hogwarts at the same time or have similar social circles."

"Aren't there pictures? They're... historical, aren't they?"

Something glinted in her eye, then was gone. "Yes, Draco. Please excuse me for one moment."

He stood when she did, though he stayed at the table as she glided to the door. Opening it, Narcissa asked Twinkle to fetch a book; after two cracks, she returned. She reviewed the index; her long fingers traveled the book until they split it open. She handed it to him, and they both sat.

Draco set the book on his lap, propped against the table edge, careful of the tea. Books don't mix well with food. A smiling couple looked out at him, and then they turned to each other, laughing. He was dark skinned, like Blaise, and he had hair that couldn't decide what to do. She had bright green eyes that crinkled when she smiled.

"He could look like anyone. They don't even look a little alike."

"He looks like a boy, Draco."

Draco glared at her before returning to the book. "You know what I mean. I look like a Malfoy; Theo looks like a Nott. I don't recognize their lines."

"James Potter was the son of Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, who immigrated from India, both Purebloods. Lily Potter was born to Muggles."

Draco goggled at her. "She was a Mu—Muggleborn?" He had caught the beginning of her frown at the use of the impolite word—they were here to learn etiquette, after all—and swiftly revised his words. It was not the first time, nor would it be the last. Lucius did have some influence.

"Yes."

He tapped on the sides of the book, one-two-three, one-two-three. "Were they very much younger than you?"

"Yes."

Draco clutched the book in his small hands, staring, staring. Then he shut the book gently and returned it. "Thank you, Mother."

\---

The memories were not in chronological order. He assumed there was a pattern, but even now he didn't know it.

"How old is Harry Potter now?"

"You are nearly two months older, so he is still five."

"And I'm six!"

She hid her smile in her teacup. "Yes, you are."

This memory ended with his laughter, high and boyish. Not many did.

\---

"Everyone wants something, Draco."

He sulkily dismantled his cake with his fork. "This is so boring. Why should I care? Vince and Greg are stupid."

"Vincent and Gregory are the sons of two men who are important to your father; they shall be your companions for many years. You will get bored if you ignore them."

He squashed the crumbs against the plate. "Vincent wants to ride dragons, because he's stupid. Gregory wants to rob Gringotts, because he's stupid. You can't do either of those things!"

She vanished the remnants from his plate. "Sit up straight, Draco. Think. Must wish fulfillment be literal?"

Draco made a sound deep in his chest. "I don't want companions! I want—" But he clenched his jaws against the word, although Narcissa must have heard it anyway. She always did.

She set her hand on his and squeezed it gently.

He sighed. "Toy brooms and glamors would work for those two. Perhaps in the garden ruins. And sweets. Vincent likes pumpkin custard, and Gregory likes strawberry anything." He pulled his hand away.

Narcissa hummed softly. "When I send you letters at Hogwarts, I will include treats especially for them."

"Father says I'm..." He folded his hands in his lap.

Something shimmered in her eyes.

\---

"Pansy is a girl," he said emphatically.

"Yes, and girls can want things."

"She wants to kiss me, and she's a girl."

"What do you think of that?"

"She's a girl," he explained again.

\---

"Describe Occlumency, Draco."

"A protective form of magic that shields your mind." How could he look so tired at fourteen? Or was this fifteen? This was the summer after Diggory, after—

"Yes and no. It is a mental shielding technique. While it does not require magic, it can be augmented by it. Still, for practiced Legilimens, the presence of magic can alert them to the use of Occlumency."

He frowned. "That makes sense."

"There are many methods, but the one I use is at once simple to understand and difficult to master."

"Where did you learn?"

"My upbringing afforded a unique education, as yours has. Many skills outside of the usual range were necessary for me; this is one of them."

He nodded at her to continue. There are things one can know, but cannot ask.

"Essentially, you must know what others think of you, what they want, what they are willing to risk. What you must do to conceal your true self. It is a manipulation of both the surface and the depths. You have control of your surface, Draco, around most; we will now begin on the depths."

\---

"What does Aunt Bellatrix think of you?"

"That you coddle me," he whispered. "That I'm weak."

"Yes," she mused, mixing the dittany compound, "she would think so. What do you gain by this impression?"

As she applied the compound to his wounds, he bit into the meat of his hand to stifle a sob. He'd learned to be quiet, these past few weeks.

"Draco. Focus. What does Bellatrix need to see?"

\---

"Your letters have mentioned Harry Potter often, Draco."

He glared at the green and red biscuits just as he'd glared at every instance of their mingling in the halls. Christmas was usually a green and silver at the Manor. "I don't want to talk about him."

She hummed and drank her tea.

"He's awful and coarse. He spends time with Weasleys. He always has some stain about him."

"What does he think of you?"

"He doesn't think of me at all."

She set her cup down. "That can't be true, my dear. I know you have made yourself known to him."

He rolled his eyes. "Potter is surrounded by the masses at every turn, Mother. I'm some vague green blob—he never cleans his glasses properly. He is nothing like he ought to be."

"He is only a boy, Draco. Harry Potter wants something, like everyone else. If you—"

"No," Draco said, standing. "He is not my companion! He is not my friend! I don't want anything to do with him!"

Narcissa regarded him coolly until he collapsed back into his seat. "Regardless, thinking of his point of view is a valuable tool. He was sorted into Gryffindor, yes?"

Draco crossed his arms.

"What are the tenets of his House?"

He recited, "Bravery, charity, chivalry, valor."

"What, then, would appeal to him?"

"Riding in on a white horse, declaring war on non-treacle-tart desserts, and burning the kitchens to the ground for daring to make Manchester tart."

"Well," she said, eyes sparkling, "he does sound like an extremist."

"He's a monster, Mother. An absolute villain."

\---

"Mother, what color are your eyes?"

She smiled. "Very good, Draco. Not many can spot the glamor."

As he watched, her platinum hair turned white; her ivory skin, pink. The gray of her eyes softened to lilac.

"It's one of the first spells I learned. I used to match my sisters' blue eyes; now I match you."

It isn't included in Narcissa's memory, but at the time he'd thought: _Mother hides herself, too._

**Author's Note:**

> I don't remember which fic it was, but someone had one line about Narcissa with albinism and it just Stuck. Also, I fully accept that I am a lot softer with them than is canonical. Hope it wasn't too jarring!


End file.
